


Lesson Learned

by DesertBanshee



Series: Smitten [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Bad Jokes, Dogs, F/M, Fluff, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4676819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertBanshee/pseuds/DesertBanshee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there's one lesson Halsa Tabris has learned, it's don't take flowers from human boys. Even if they're pretty. And sweet. And flattering. And all flushed and flustered and making dumb jokes in the moonlight. </p><p>What was the lesson again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lesson Learned

The moon is full and almost blindingly bright tonight. Halsa’s never had any particular interest in sky-watching, but Shianni always has, forever tugging Halsa’s sleeve and cooing “look at the moooon!” “Yup, still there,” she’d say, “just like last night.” Then her cousin would shake her head and tell Halsa she had no sense of romance. She never disagreed.

But tonight, she’s happy to look up at the moon and stars. It’s something to do while she sits sprawled on the hill outside camp. Watch duty can be mighty boring. She wonders if Shianni’s looking at it back home. “Alright, it’s pretty,” she murmurs, admiring its perfect roundness, its crisp white against the pitch black sky. She hopes Shianni can feel the concession somehow. She shifts slightly and smiles at the world-weary sigh that heaves from the furry head in her lap. “Yeah, me too,” she says, scratching Onion’s head. Off in the trees, wolves are howling, and his ears prick up with interest. “I don’t think you wanna go running with them, boyo” Halsa tells him, “They’re not quite like you.”

She never thought she’d get on with a dog as much as Onion. She’s always been wary of dogs, getting too friendly with one can get your hand bit, but Onion is loyal and brave and much smarter than she first took him to be. Now he’s a friend. She can’t imagine not having him with her. 

Sort of like Alistair.

“ _No._ ” she says aloud, banishing the thought. Not like Alistair. Bastard princes are different from dogs. Beware of rich boys who give you flowers, maybe the only hard lesson she’s ever really learned. He may not be rich, but he might as well be. That’s why she said thanks-but-no-thanks and when no one was looking flung the damn thing off a cliff. It felt awful to do, he did a better job picking a pretty one than most other boys she’s known. But it’s better this way. People like them only make trouble for each other.

There’s a rustling coming from behind her, and she turns to find flower boy himself emerging disheveled from his tent, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “‘s not your turn yet,” she tells him as he settles next to her in the grass. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” he stretches his legs out next to hers, worn trousers and bare feet, “Did you hear the wolves?”

“No, I thought this was a _watch_ not a listen,” she snorts at the glare he shoots her, “they wake you up?”

He shrugs, “I was up already. I was just…”

Thinking. He’s always thinking. Too much, if you ask her. Three guesses what he was thinking _about_. 

“Better put your boots on, pilgrim,” she nudges his exposed foot with her leather-clad one, “wouldn’t want anyone chopping your toes off.” 

“No, I’m swearing off shoes. Seems to work well enough for your friends back there.” 

Halsa laughs, “My mum used to tell me the Dalish had hooves. Didn’t believe her til I saw the nasty things myself,” she cranes her neck, pretending to examine the soles of his feet, “I don’t think your little rosebuds would make it very far.”

“ _Rosebuds?_ ” he whines, crossing his arms, “I’ll have you know my feet are quite manly, thank you.”

This is why she wanted to take watch alone tonight. If she doesn’t want him, she at least ought to quit flirting with him. But it’s so easy, and _fuck_ he’s pretty, and they could easily be dead tomorrow. What’s the harm in having a little fun? Plenty. Plenty is the answer to that question, Halsa’s learned that.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to insult your _manhood_ ,” 

“Ah well, you’re hardly the first,” he reaches over to stroke Onion’s head, “Besides, I have a suspicion you’d smite anyone who tried to chop my toes off.”

“What’s that mean - smite?” He’s always using words she’s never heard before.

“Oh. It means to kill someone, but...sort of...with righteous fury. I guess.”

Smite. She likes that word. “Now you’re just flattering me.”

He grins, shy but mischievous, “I’m certain I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Dammit, she can’t stop encouraging him. She needs to change the subject. “Look at the moon,” she finally manages. Shit fuck, now she’s talking about the stupid moon. What is _wrong_ with her?

“I have been, actually,” he says, “it’s beautiful.”

“...yeah.” 

The lull that follows is heavy, and she opens her mouth to break it but Alistair seizes on it first.

“So uh, about the other day. I -”

Oh no, here it comes. “You don’t need to -”

“No, I do.” He’s fidgeting with his pocket now, and Halsa wants to scramble out from beneath the dog and run away, but she stops herself. “I just - I’ve been kicking myself for it. I never meant to pressure you, or - or come on too strong.”

“You worry too much.” She flashes him a smile, hopefully reassuring more than teasing “You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

“I think - Are you sure? Because it seems like you’ve been...I don’t know. Avoiding me.”

She sucks in a hesitant breath. “I know. I don’t like doing it, if that makes you feel better.”

“Not really, no. Listen, if there’s anything I can do to make up for it, I’ll do it.” He pauses, chews his lip, stares at his feet, “It’s just - you’re...important to me. And I hate to think I ruined it because I was...well...”

“Thorny?” she offers. 

“No, no it wasn’t that! I mean, maybe a little, but that’s...I would have been satisfied if you let me hold your hand.” 

“Ohhh Alistair,” she buries her face in her hands. This is too much. When she finally looks up, she can see the blush that’s crept up his face and neck even in the dim light. “That’s just it. We can’t feel that way. It doesn’t have a good ending.”

“You don’t know that.” He still looks like he just got slapped across the face.

“Maybe _you_ don’t. You haven’t seen it like I have. I know you didn’t ask for who your pa was, but that’s the way it happened. People like him go slumming with alienage girls all the time, and guess who gets spit on and called nasty names when they get found out?”

He’s looking up at the moon again. He looks so upset she’s sure he’s about to tell her off, tell her she’s heartless and she’s got him all wrong. But he just says, “I’m sorry, Halsa,” in the gentlest voice she thinks she’s ever heard, “I’m an idiot.” 

“No you’re not,” she sighs, “You’re sweet.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll leave you alone. But I want you to know, if anyone ever spits on you or calls you nasty names, I’ll _smite_ them. I mean, I know you can do that yourself, but -”

She reaches out to where his hand rests on his leg, and threads her fingers through his. The surprised smile that spreads across his face is worth that entire horrid conversation. 

“Happy?” she gives it a squeeze.

“Heh. Yeah,” he’s grinning like a moron, and she can’t take it anymore. She shoves Onion off her lap unceremoniously and leans over to press her lips against his. He’s an eager but awkward kisser, and when she pulls away just enough to let him breathe, he says “I’d never done that before.” 

“I can tell,” she snickers. She turns to where Onion has plopped onto the ground with a grunt, “Sorry, boy. I needed more room.” 

Alistair turns her face toward his and goes in for another shorter kiss. He’s already better at it. “You know, I’ve been jealous of that dog the entire night.”

She laughs, a little dizzy, and pats her now vacant thigh, “Well, here you go.”

He settles with his head on her lap, and she likes that he hums with appreciation when she strokes his hair. “I may have thrown your flower away,” she tells him. 

“Mmm that’s alright,” he murmurs sleepily, “I’ll get you another one.”

He clutches her free hand to his chest, fingers laced, and they’re quiet for a long time. “Can’t wait to tell Morrigan,” she says eventually, but he’s asleep by then, and it’s probably better that way. She doesn’t want to think about the harsh and true things Morrigan would have to say about this.

She should be angry with herself, but right now her head is buzzing and her heart feels like it might burst from her chest and she can’t bring herself to do anything but smile stupidly. 

She never learns.


End file.
